


summer stars

by glim



Series: victory garden [3]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Domestic, M/M, Pre-Captain America: The First Avenger, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Steve Rogers's Birthday
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-05
Updated: 2020-07-05
Packaged: 2021-03-05 05:55:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25079482
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glim/pseuds/glim
Summary: Steve's birthday is tomorrow, too, and Bucky can't imagine not wanting to give him the world and everything in it. Sweet ripe tomatoes and cold vanilla ice cream, the pinprick of silver stars against the darkening summer sky, and every kiss he can manage.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Series: victory garden [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1816324
Comments: 25
Kudos: 66





	summer stars

The evening before Independence Day, New York City is a hothouse. The air hangs heavy and low in the heat and any rain that falls turns to steam almost as soon as it hits the asphalt or cement. 

"It's like living in a sauna," Bucky says as he drops down next to Steve on their fire escape. They've been home from work for all of fifteen minutes and even that felt like too long in the stifling heat of their apartment. 

Bucky's thought about buying another fan for his and Steve's place, though he's pretty sure the two at work do nothing more than push the hot air around the tailor shop. They had more flies than customers inside the shop by the end of the day and Bucky was more than glad to flip the sign closed just after five, roll up his sleeves and unbutton his shirt, and walk to the five-and-time to get Steve. 

"Without the actual benefits of a sauna." Steve's hair is dark with sweat at his temples and the nape of his neck, his ears flushed a faint pink from the heat. With only his undershirt and trousers on, Bucky can see the dusting of freckles over his shoulders and not kissing each one is probably the hardest thing he's had to do today. 

Thank god the heat's too much to want to be close to anyone; well, almost too much and _almost_ anyone, Bucky thinks, and brushes his bare foot against Steve's. Steve casts a sideways smile at Bucky, nudging his toes against Bucky's, and smiles again when the ticklish touch makes Bucky's foot twitch. 

It's too hot to pull Steve into their bedroom, it even feels too hot to light a cigarette, so Bucky just gets as comfortable as he can and watches Steve fiddle around with a few sketches. He's pretty sure if he closed his eyes, he would doze off in the late afternoon sun, the light, rough scratch of pencil against paper and the rhythm of Steve's breathing to lull him. 

"Wish we could sleep out here," Bucky murmurs. "At least there's a breeze." 

Steve's pencil swoops across the page in long strokes. He pauses, probably thinking, then shifts next to Bucky so their bodies just touch, hip to hip. 

"We could eat dinner out here," he replies. "And stay out until we're ready to fall asleep." 

"Dinner? You cooking?" 

"Yeah, sure, I'll make you Sunday roast and potatoes and everything." A few more quick, sharp sounds of pencil against paper, then a rustle of pages as Steve shuts the book. His shoulder jostles against Bucky's until they settle in against each other again. "Sandwiches," he says, "tomatoes from the garden, and the leftover chicken your ma dropped off." 

Bucky turns to Steve, heavy-lidded and too warm, and watches a trickle of sweat make its way from Steve's temple to the curve of his neck. He can't touch his tongue to the salt-sweet taste of it, so he touches Steve's face instead, traces the path and touches the pad of his thumb the join of Steve's neck and shoulder. 

"That sounds perfect, actually." 

Bucky's right; their dinner is perfect. 

The tomatoes from their garden are on the verge of almost too ripe and burst sunshine-sweet over the tongue. They make their sandwiches leaning against the kitchen counter, where it's ten degrees hotter inside than out, but it's private. Steve laughs when Bucky leans in to lick tomato juice from his lips and kisses Bucky sudden and soft when their mouths brush together. He feeds Bucky the extra slices of tomato and laughs again when Bucky kisses the tips of his fingers, calls him sweetheart and kisses the palm of his hand to keep Steve close to him. They picked those tomatoes together a few afternoons ago, the sun on the back of their necks and Bucky swears he fell in love all over again to see Steve smile at the plants they grew. 

"Sunshine," Bucky murmurs between kisses, and he means that he can taste the sunshine in every bite of ripe tomato, in every kiss that Steve presses against his mouth. 

Steve just says _Buck, honey,_ right against Bucky's mouth and sighs as he ends the kiss, leaving only enough space between the two of them for him to say Bucky's name against his lips one more time. 

Steve's birthday is tomorrow, too, and Bucky can't imagine not wanting to give him the world and everything in it. Sweet ripe tomatoes and cold vanilla ice cream, the pinprick of silver stars against the darkening summer sky, and every kiss he can manage. 

When they go back outside, the sun is just on the bring of setting and golden light slants through the city. They bring their plates and glasses onto the fire escape, sit with their legs tangled, and watch the city ease into a warm summer night around them. Somebody in the next building has a radio out on the windowsill and music unwinds through the warm air, Billie Holiday and Duke Ellington and the Ink Spots. 

Just before the sun sets, the last few rays catch the gold of Steve's eyelashes and for a moment, the world is a haze of heat and music and light, the warmth of Steve's body against Bucky's and the memory of his name on Steve's lips. 

He's never loved anyone the way he loves Steve, sunshine-sweet and hazy gold, and he knows down to his very bones that he'll never love anyone else like this. 

When those last few rays of sun disappear, Bucky gets up to take their plates inside and refill their water glasses. He hands the glasses to Steve before he settles back on the fire escape, and this time he sits right next to Steve. They're close, but it's not so bad now with the sun down, and Steve's probably more comfortable with his back against Bucky's chest and his tipped against Bucky's shoulder. 

Tomorrow, they'll go to the garden to weed and water their plants, maybe spend the morning by the garden plots before heading to his parents' house. They'll have a barbecue and birthday cake, then fireworks and a long evening stretched out on the grass. 

Tonight, though, they have the soft dusk and the distant music, their bodies pressed close on the fire escape, and Steve's fingers slipping between Bucky's to hold his hand loosely. 

"You know I love you, right?" Bucky murmurs into Steve's hair, soft enough that only Steve would ever know what he's saying. 

"Every day," Steve says, then "me too," and his fingers tighten around Bucky's. 

By the time the next song starts on their neighbor's radio, the sky is full of stars.


End file.
